Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Focus.
Right now, what mattered most was figuring out how to convince my uncles to let me renovate the inn. I thought through what I needed to make that happen: a money source, a design plan, a business plan, and—if I could find one—a similar story of success. I pulled out my phone and scrolled back through my browser history from the night before when I’d had trouble sleeping and needed to think about something other than James.
There was an old motor inn in West Yarmouth that had undergone a fairly decent revival about ten years ago, but they’d gotten some horrible damage from downed trees when Hurricane Jose came through in 2017. They were still in the process of rebuilding. That definitely wasn’t an example that would put my uncles at ease.
The Chanticleer in Newport, Rhode Island, was also a vintage inn from the sixties that had been completely overhauled successfully, but it was too far away for me to visit today. Maybe I needed to print off photos of the renovation and look up their rooming availability as best I could.
There were also a couple of places up in the Catskills, old motor lodges that had been renovated into trendy off-the-beaten-path destinations. They seemed to have a lot of success with a younger crowd that liked to post pictures of the place on social media. But I wasn’t sure that was an angle my uncles would understand or appreciate. I doubted they even knew what a hashtag was, much less how to use one.
I ran my fingers through my hair, suddenly panicking at how much work it was going to take to get this project pulled together the way I wanted to. At this point, after hearing James’s promises of big money, it felt like an impossible task.
Nobody ever drowned in his own sweat.
My grandfather’s voice had been gruff from decades of smoking, but every time he’d said those old lines to me, he’d winked at me.
Ain’t nothing but a thing.
I turned the jeep around and headed back to the Sea Sprite. When I passed the By the Way parking lot and recognized James’s rental car, I couldn’t help but glance at the apartment windows upstairs, wondering if I could catch a glimpse of the man inside. Which made me feel like a moody teen, mooning after a crush. I cursed myself and forced my eyes straight ahead. I didn’t have time for Mr. Beautiful But Lies By Omission.
I had an inn to save.
When I pulled up to the front of the Sea Sprite, Ana Lucia was hustling out of the front door and down the walkway toward the east-wing rooms like her ass was on fire. I threw the jeep into park and hopped out to join her.
“What’s wrong?”
She flapped her arm which was her universal gesture for “what the hell else is new?”
“Flood in room 109 again. That motherfucking uncle of yours keeps giving us shit work on the faucet because he thinks this place isn’t worth his time,” she snapped. “I ought to siphon out this water and put it in that old truck of his to see how he likes it. Damned good-for-nothing plumber ain’t worth… Oh, hello Mr. and Mrs. Rivens!” she said, instantly brightening, her fire-engine-red lips stretching into a smile as she changed course toward an older couple shuffling toward us down the sidewalk.
“I’m so sorry,” she continued, not even missing a beat as she slipped between them and threaded her arms through theirs, deftly turning them away from the disaster zone that had been their room and toward the front lobby. “I’ve already moved you to room 202 on the other side of the inn. It’s a larger room with a much nicer view of the ocean. You’re going to absolutely love it. Sawyer here will help move your luggage just as soon as we get this water shut off.”
Her voice went from homicidal to sticky sweet with the flip of a switch like I’d seen her do a million times before. I was too distracted by the rivulets of water running out of the open door, across the walkway, and out into the parking lot to pay much attention to Ana Lucia’s chameleon tendencies.
I cursed under my breath, wanting to kick something. This was one of the few remaining rooms at the inn with half-decent carpet in it, and it was quickly getting ruined. I raced inside, water splashing over my shoes as I squelched my way across the carpet to the bathroom. Water flooded from the toilet in a seemingly unending geyser. I dove for the water shutoff valve, twisting the handle as quickly as I could.
Until it fell off in my hand.
“Fuck!!” I growled.
“Knock knock,” a familiar—sexier than should be legal—voice called from the doorway outside. “Do you need any help in here? I saw the water running down the parking lot when I pulled in and—” He stopped when he reached the bathroom. “Oh shit, what happened in here?”